


Like the Others Do

by Dajra



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (in ages at least), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff, House Party, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23833225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dajra/pseuds/Dajra
Summary: It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this, with him running another anxious hand through his hair as he waited for her outside the small campus apartment she shared with her father. He had told himself long ago to hold everyone at arm’s length—that relationships were more easily developed in terms of utility than emotion if he didn’t want to be exposed to hurt. And though there had been a list of growing exceptions to his rules, he had yet to find someone’s opinion he longed so strongly to be favorable towards him.(Claude has never been one for parties, but maybe having Byleth around could change that.)
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 21
Kudos: 112
Collections: The Golden Gifts - Claudeleth Fic/Art Exchange





	Like the Others Do

**Author's Note:**

> For @smallestbrown on twitter! A part of the Golden Gifts Exchange! Your prompt beat me into submission and developed a mind of it's own, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to princessofmind for proofreading this!

“So, I heard an interesting rumor today...”  
  
Claude barely held back his sigh, peering over his laptop at the pink-haired woman who had helped herself to a seat across from him. He adored Hilda, truly. She was one of the dearest friends he had made during his undergraduate years—but that tone of her voice only meant trouble.  
  
His eyes darted back to his essay, trying to wrap up the quote he was working on before he inevitably lost his train of thought. “You heard about how someone posted pictures of Lorenz’s questionable haircut choices from high school all over the house’s forum? Which wasn’t me, by the way.”  
  
It _was_ , but that was neither here nor there.  
  
“ _No_ , but I do need you to show me those pictures later.” Manicured nails peeked from over the top of the screen, drumming against the plastic until Claude looked up again. He was rewarded with a glimmer of mischief—one he was not too keen on being directed at him.  
  
“I heard,” Hilda gently closed the laptop as she began, pointedly ignoring the huff of annoyance from him, “that someone has been getting _awfully_ chummy with Professor Eisner’s daughter. You know,” Hilda looks at her nails, clearly _knowing_ the answer, “the grad student who’s always helping him with office hours?”  
  
“Uh-huh.” Claude makes a noncommittal noise, gathering his scattered notes with all the nonchalance he can muster.  
  
Undeterred, Hilda leans over the table, practically laying across it to catch his eye again. “I’ve heard that they’ve even been seen together _outside_ of office hours, getting drinks and just hanging out.”  
  
“Is that so?” Claude steels himself, seeing where this conversation was heading from miles away.  
  
“Claude von Riegan, did you get a girlfriend _without telling me_?!”  
  
“Hil—no, it’s not like that.” He waves a hand, a casual smile pulling at his lips. “A guy and a girl can hang out without dating, you know. Or,” a look of mock shock crosses his face, placing a dramatic hand on his chest, “have you been keeping our relationship a secret from me this whole time?”  
  
Hilda seems unimpressed, rolling her eyes at his antics. “Don’t change the subject on me, Claude! It’s like pulling teeth to get you to hang out with the rest of your housemates, let alone your _best friend_.” She sniffs, before jabbing an accusing finger at him. “So the fact that YOU, Mister _Fake Smiles_ and _Master of Excuses_ , is willingly hanging out with someone of your own volition is a big deal!”  
  
“Ouch Hilda, I don’t make excuses—“  
  
Hilda’s hands slam against the table, cutting him off. “ _Spill_ , von Riegan.” She crosses her arms, leaving no room for argument. “You _have_ to be the one who instigated this ‘ _hanging out_ ’,” her words emphasized by finger-quotes, “that Byleth girl is known for being hard to talk to. So fess up already!”  
  
He knows a losing battle when he sees one, so Claude raises up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I _have_ been hanging out with Byleth outside of office hours. But I promise you it’s not because we’re dating, or anything of the sort.” A hand runs through his hair, needing something to keep his idle hands busy. “We just ended up talking about her dissertation during one of the Prof’s office hours, and it was some real interesting stuff, so I asked her to tell me more about it. From there, we just started trading ideas, you know? That’s really all there is to it.”  
  
“Uh-huh.” Hilda looks unconvinced, still fixing him with a frown. “So you guys are talking about boring history stuff while going to _bars_ together?”  
  
Claude gives her a frown in return. “We went to one liquor store together to pick up whiskey for her _father_. Where are you even hearing this from?”  
  
She levels him with one more steely glance before leaning back in her chair, offering a shrug. “I have my ways.” When Claude cocks a brow, she relaxes fully and waves a casual hand. “But if you must know, Sylvain is awful chatty when he wants something.”  
  
Of course. Claude doesn’t want to know what that _something_ could have possibly been, so he tries to steer the conversation far away from any more revelations on the subject. “By the way, how did shopping with Marianne go?”  
  
The bait and switch is highly effective, and Hilda immediately claps her hands together in excitement. “Oh, it went _wonderfully_ , Claude, you should’ve seen the way she got flustered at my compliments! But they were all _so_ deserved—did you know she’s hiding the cutest little thighs under those frumpy skirts she’s wearing all the time? I just want to squeeze them!”  
  
He laughs fully at that, a smile tugging at his lips as he could only imagine the embarrassed faces Marianne had pulled under his excitable friend’s attention. “I would never question your judgment, Hilda. I’m glad you two had fun.”  
  
“Oh, we did. So much fun in fact—” She leans forward, drawing Claude to lean in as well “—that I convinced her to go with me to that party the Lions’ are hosting.”  
  
_That_ got a look of open surprise on his face, mouth agape. “ _Our_ Marianne? At a _party_?”  
  
“Our very own.” Hilda flips her hair back over a shoulder, beaming with obvious pride. “She’s even going to let me do her make-up and wear something _I_ pick.”  
  
Claude sits back with a whistle. “Wow. Gotta say, I’m impressed Hilda.”  
  
“Right?” She opens her mouth to continue, but snaps it shut as her eyes go wide. “I know!”  
  
Warily, Claude asks, “What is it?,” not too fond of the way she’s beginning to eye him.  
  
Her smile grows dangerously wide. “If you and Byleth are such good friends now, why don’t you invite her to the party with us?”  
  
It was just as bad as he feared. He can feel the cold trickle of unease begin to creep down his spine, forcing a laugh. “Hilda, you know I don’t really do parties.”  
  
“Yeah, but you never go anywhere with us!” She turns on a pout that would have lesser men scrambling at her whim, tilting her head _just so_. “You have to be there to support Marianne at her first party! And if you bring Byleth, you guys can talk about history or whatever so you can forget about your weird distaste for social gatherings.”  
  
As much as he would like to be, Claude isn’t completely immune to Hilda’s wiles—and he feels his resolve begin to crumble. “I don’t know, Byleth hardly seems like a _party girl_.”  
  
“Come on, Claude, just one party? Please? For your dear friend Hilda?” The power of her pout is almost blinding at this point, the wobble of her bottom lip honed to perfection. “It’s our senior year! Just come to this _one_ party and I won’t bug you about it anymore!”  
  
Claude sighs, running a hand through his hair again.  
  
  
-  
  
  
_“I really don’t think it would be our thing.”  
  
  
_-  
  
  
Is what Claude wishes he told Hilda.  
  
Instead he’s nudging his shoulder against Byleth’s during their near nightly routine of drinking coffee together as she works on her thesis in the basement of the library, trying to exude all the confidence he doesn’t feel as he asks, “So, what do you say? Wanna check out an undergrad party and live out your glory days once again?”  
  
“Hm,” is her response, tilting her head in what Claude has learned is her way of expressing interest in an idea. “I never went to any parties in my undergrad.”  
  
He flashes her a toothy grin, pressing on despite his better judgment. “Your father’s glory days, then. I’m sure he saw his fair share of parties.”  
  
She huffs by way of a laugh, rewarding Claude with a rare smile that he drinks up greedily. “Don’t let him know you’ve caught on to him, or he’ll hurt you in ways beyond academic.”  
  
Claude crosses a finger over his heart, expression grave. “I would never be so careless. Me and the Prof have a decent enough rapport now, and I’m not about to lose it.”  
  
Byleth hums again, setting the old manuscript she had been reviewing by Claude, who picks it up eagerly. “Sure.”  
  
Already engrossed in running his finger down the old script on the page, Claude nearly misses her comment, and a few seconds pass before he turns back towards her. “Sure to what?”  
  
“Sure to your question. I’ll check out the party with you.”  
  
It’s stated so casually that Claude is left floundering for a moment. He replays the words in his head before a smile pulls at his lips and a genuine sense of excitement bubbles in his chest—making him feel surprisingly giddy. “Well, well! The Prof’s daughter has a wild side, huh?” He closes the book, resting an elbow on the table and his head on his hand, giving her his full attention. “Gotta say, I’m surprised you’re interested in the first place, By.”  
  
She chews her bottom lip, an even rarer gesture of uncertainty as she opens another book of her own. “I’ve never really been interested in them before. I’ve told you I never had much time to socialize with how much Dad moved around when I was growing up.”  
  
He nods, urging her to continue.  
  
Their eyes meet for a moment before Byleth shrugs, flipping through the pages in front of her. “I don’t really understand why it’s catching my interest now either. But I think I could have fun. With you there, I mean.”  
  
Claude prays to whatever divine beings who might be out there that he’s managed to keep his face schooled in a visage of ease, because her easy admission has twisted his gut in such a way that he forgets how to breathe for a moment.  
  
“Well,” he begins casually as if his heart isn’t trying to squeeze his way out of his throat, “then as the captain of your first expedition into the life of a party-goer, I’ll do my best to ensure you have a good time.”  
  
Byleth gives him another smile, before nodding to the book she handed him. “That one has the personal diary of the soldier who participated in the war of Unification that I mentioned earlier.”  
  
Claude hums, opening the pages once again as his eyes absorb none of the words.  
  
  
-  
  
  
His relationship with Byleth had developed somewhat unexpectedly for Claude. The aloof daughter of the equally aloof Professor Eisner was a curiosity at first, always huddled in the corner of her father’s office. Upon learning of her thesis on the role of religion during the Unification Wars, she became a source of knowledge—and a handy tool for worming his way into the archives of the library typically reserved for graduate students only.  
  
It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this, with him running another anxious hand through his hair as he waited for her outside the small campus apartment she shared with her father. He had told himself long ago to hold everyone at arm’s length—that relationships were more easily developed in terms of utility than emotion if he didn’t want to be exposed to hurt. And though there had been a list of growing exceptions to his rules, he had yet to find someone’s opinion he longed so strongly to be favorable towards him.  
  
What had initially started out as a convenient wealth of information was becoming much harder to ignore as something _more dear_.  
  
Claude tugs at the collar of his shirt, feeling more stifled as the minutes drag on before the sound of a door opening draws him back to the present. He turns in time to see Byleth step out onto the stairs and—  
  
Oh. This was not good for his current state of mind.  
  
Instead of the typical jeans and jacket combo he had grown accustomed to seeing her in, she had opted for something more _form-fitting_. A tight black shirt that cut low on her chest, a pair of black shorts that rode high on her thighs—all the more room to show off the lacy tights she wore before they disappeared into her boots. And the choppy hair she always wore loose now was tied up in a messy bun atop her hair, a few dark tendrils sneaking out to frame her face.  
  
Claude forcibly drags himself back to the present, coaxing a smile back to his face. He lets out an appreciative whistle, giving her an exaggerated wink as she approaches him. “Wow, By. You got a hot date or something?”  
  
She rolls her eyes but does nothing to hide the amusement playing at her lips. “He wishes.”  
  
Claude barks out a laugh, that ever familiar flutter of his heart growing stronger as they fall into their easy banter. “Must be a lucky fellow—or maybe not, if that’s your lackluster response.”  
  
Byleth tilts her head, drawing close enough to bump her shoulder against his arm by way of greeting. “Who knows.”  
  
Another laugh is pulled from him. “Playing coy, huh? Keep your secrets then.” He waves his arm out in front of him with a flourish, dipping in a mock bow. “Shall we?”  
  
She nods, and they fall in step next to each other. The Lions’ house was located on the north side of campus, not terribly fair from the central apartments where Byleth lived.  
  
They hadn’t walked fair before Claude breaks their amiable silence, glancing down at her. “Seriously though, you look very nice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear your hair up before. Or make-up, for that matter.”  
  
“It’s not something I typically wear.” Her gaze is still on the path ahead, lips twisted in a small frown. “The make-up isn’t mine. A friend of my father gave it to me for my birthday, and I’ve never thought to use it before now.” Something unsure pulls at her brows as he offers him a look. “It’s not weird?”  
  
“Absolutely not.” Claude might have felt embarrassed at how quickly he jumped to soothe her worries if he wasn’t so absolutely entranced with her at this moment. “I meant it when I said it looked nice.”  
  
Her expression softens. “Thank you.” There’s a pause as her gaze appraises him. “You also look nice.”  
  
Claude pulls at the open collar of his shirt with a chuckle. “I’m feeling pretty under-dressed next to you, if I’m being honest.” The only thing he had put real effort into was taming his hair, but that was an everyday battle. The button-up and slacks were just the first things in his closet that were nice enough without being too _nice_.  
  
She hums and reaches up to tuck one of her stray hairs behind her ears, Claude’s eyes following the movement. “I don’t actually know what you do at a college party. Do you just...drink?”  
  
“Can I be honest with you again?” His smile is sheepish as she meets his eyes. “I don’t actually know what you do at a party either. Haven’t been to one since my freshman year, and I always left pretty quickly.” His typical night during those days was showing his face long enough to network then slip away unnoticed, to Hilda’s constant chagrin.  
  
Byleth’s eyes are wide. “Really?” There’s a beat, before, “Wait, I thought you were supposed to be my guide tonight?”  
  
Laughter is the only response he can think to give her flabbergasted expression, tossing his arms behind his head with ease. “Oh, I still got you on that. You’ll find that I work best under pressure.”  
  
“Uh-huh.” Her completely unimpressed reply only makes him laugh harder, playfully rubbing his elbow against the top of her head.  
  
“Come on, trust me. Look, there’s the house right there.” Sure enough, their short walk had come to an end much too quickly, the blue home looming from behind an iron fence. The gates were thrown open wide, and multiple cars had already piled along the driveway.  
  
Claude links his arm within Byleth’s, offering a wink. “Time to enter the Lion’s den, or so they say.”  
  
  
-  
  
  
It was true that Claude hadn’t been to a party in years, but he was a professional at picking up and following social cues when he wanted to. It also helped that Hilda was there when they arrived—surprisingly on time with Marianne in tow. She wasted no time in gushing over Byleth and practically whisked her from Claude in order to introduce and re-introduce her to notable people there.  
  
Claude knew better than to interrupt Hilda when she set her mind to something, so he contents himself with leaning against one of the archways, watching the three girls flit through the crowd. It’s not long before his focus is disturbed, a rigid hand being thrust into his peripheral.  
  
“Claude.” He turns to face the Lions’ leader, unable to stop the quirk of his lips at the formal gesture.  
  
“Dimitri.” The handshake is firm, and Claude is pretty proud of himself for holding back a chuckle. Dimitri had always been good enough company, even if he was a bit too earnest with ceremony—but that was no reason to make him more uncomfortable than he already obviously was.  
  
“I must say, I’m surprised to see you here tonight. You’re not typically one for these sorts of functions.”  
  
Claude’s brow raises, taking in Dimitri's stiff posture. “I could say the same to you, but I guess it would be in bad taste to leave your own party.”  
  
The smile on Dimitri’s face becomes strained, the nervous shuffle of his shoulders odd on a man of his stature. “I suppose I would be a poor host if I did not ensure everyone was provided for during their time here.” He shakes his head as if his discomfort was a physical thing, attempting another smile. “Speaking of, may I offer you a beverage? We have more than plenty, so people would not feel the need to provide their own.”  
  
Claude is sure they have a drink he would enjoy. Instead he says, “Maybe in a bit. I’m not much of a big drinker at this kind of scene.”  
  
The blond nods in understanding. They may not be close friends, but Claude knew the other house leader well enough to know he was the type to keep his inhibitions in check as well.  
  
Their conversation is cut short by the high lilt of Hilda’s voice, a bounce in her step as she approaches.  
  
“And this is Dimitri, leader of the Lions! Dimitri, this is—”  
  
“Byleth,” Dimitri provides, his smile growing warmer.  
  
Byleth smiles in turn, a small thing turning the corners of her lips. “Dimitri. Your hair has gotten long.”  
  
Dimitri is sheepish once again, pushing back the hair that had escaped his ponytail. Before he can speak up, Hilda has interrupted, hands on her hips as she stares Dimitri down.  
  
“ _Byleth_? It took me weeks to get you to call me something other than _Ms. Goneril_!”  
  
“Ah, well...” It’s highly comical the way Dimitri wilts under Hilda’s ire, being that he easily has a foot and a half of height over her. Claude takes this as a cue to slide away from the wall, propping his elbow up against Byleth’s shoulder as he occupies the space Hilda left.  
  
Byleth shoots him a look mixed between exasperation and amusement, but doesn’t attempt to dislodge his arm. “I helped Dimitri while he was deciding on majors to pursue. It also took me a few weeks to have him drop the _Ms. Eisner_.”  
  
The gratitude that radiates from Dimitri is nearly tangible as Hilda straightens, turning her attention back to the others. He straightens once again. “Yes, well. Byleth was very helpful to me when I began here. I apologize for not staying in touch all this time.” Byleth nods in acknowledgment, coaxing another smile from Dimitri before he continues. “Would any of you like something to drink? They’re provided freely to all guests.”  
  
With that Dimitri shows the four of them to the kitchen—and true to his word, nearly every surface imaginable is covered in beer and liquors of all kinds. Claude is somehow goaded into making drinks after Hilda claims he’s “ _the only one who ever knows what I like,_ ” which actually meant “ _I don’t want to make it and I’m not giving you an option_ ” coming from her. He ends up with a drink himself after being hit with the brunt of Hilda’s pouting—but he can’t deny feeling a little joy at having something to toast with the rest of the group.  
  
Hilda declares, “To a great night!,” before nearly downing her drink in one go.  
  
  
-  
  
  
Claude learned two new things about Byleth from this party so far.  
  
One—Byleth’s alcohol tolerance was nothing to be trifled with.  
  
And two—she was a drinking game _savant_.  
  
After their second toast (which was very shortly after the first upon Hilda’s demands for more), they had all been dragged into one of the back rooms, which seemed to be a study repurposed for something less studious. Mahogany desks had been pushed haphazardly against the bookshelves lining the walls, replaced with cheap folding tables lined with disposable cups. A blue-haired boy Claude knew as hailing from the Eagles’ house declared the group split up for a round of beer pong.  
  
Marianne politely declined, and Claude joined her to keep her company, which only gave him a better view of what could only be described as a _master at work_. Byleth never missed a single cup when it came to her turn, and drank every drink that an opposing team scored after Hilda complained how disgusting the beer was.  
  
After she and Hilda easily beat every other opposing pair, Claude switched with Hilda after the tables were set up for a new game of flip cup. Much like before, Byleth easily helped carry her team to victory, chugging her drink in seconds and landing a perfect flip on her first try, making up for any lost time her teammates may have accrued.  
  
Another resounding victory under her belt, Byleth was personally called out for a game of quarters—which ended in the same way as every other game. Even after all the drinks her aim never faltered, the crowd’s raucous cheers ringing through the room with every successful quarter she landed in the cup.  
  
Byleth, of course, walked away victorious from that as well.  
  
There’s a lull in the games when everyone starts to scramble to clear a space and one of the Lions’ members runs off to find a dartboard after Byleth claimed she had never been beaten, Byleth herself backing up to observe the flurry of movement.  
  
Claude also takes this moment to observe, but his focus is narrowed on Byleth, something warm in his chest at what he sees.  
  
The absent stare wasn’t an unusual expression for Byleth—she often got lost in her own thoughts, her expression often being mistranslated as disinterest by others. What was unusual, Claude notes, was the smile on her lips and the slight sway of her body. It’s such an unusual neutral state for her, typically still as a statue during such moments—that it brings out the streak of mischief in him.  
  
Claude smoothly slides up behind her—just out of her line of sight—to speak next to her ear.  
  
“Byleth, you’re drunk.”  
  
She doesn’t jump _per say_ , but the way she blinks suddenly betrays her surprise. She turns to him as he straightens, the smile wiped from her face. “I’m not drunk.”  
  
Claude shrugs, his own smile akin to that of a cat cornering a mouse. “You’re certainly not sober.”  
  
Byleth doesn’t immediately reply, but there’s something adorably petulant in the way she raises a shoulder, eyes darting away from Claude. “...I might be a little tipsy.”  
  
That only makes him laugh, only more endeared by this prideful side of her. “Honestly I’m impressed you’re not passed out on the floor with how much you’ve drank so far.”  
  
She huffs, her hard stare daring him to comment as she brings her drink up to her lips. “Who’s daughter do you think I am?”  
  
It catches him so off guard that Claude nearly chokes on his spit, trying and failing to hide the mixture of coughing and laughter behind a hand. “Point taken!” He clears his throat, trying to compose himself again. “I only brought it up because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this relaxed before.”  
  
Her brows raise, eyes darting up and down Claude’s body like she was looking for some chink in his armor. But the appraisal is over before Claude can dwell on the meaning in her gaze, something almost wistful on her face. “Wish I could say the same.”  
  
Once again her words have him floundering, the mask of ease he wore shattering to one of open surprise. His recovery takes longer than he would like, laughing to cover up the moment of weakness. “Well, _I_ haven’t been drinking like the cups are filled with water instead of booze.”  
  
He’s nearly knocked out by Byleth’s fist when she shoves her unfinished drink in his face, something deadly serious on her face. “Drink more then.”  
  
How was Claude supposed to deny a request like that? His laughter is lighter as he plucks the drink from her hand. “Yes ma’am.”  
  
  
-  
  
  
By the time their foray into the world of competitive drinking games was over, Claude was feeling a pleasant buzz in his veins spurred by a few more drinks he had consumed watching the parade of compliments pour in for Byleth after she had completely decimated a sober Dimitri at darts. People had begun to disperse, off to refill drinks or find a new crowd to play games with.  
  
Byleth adamantly refused Hilda’s proposition to dance with her and Marianne ( _“I can’t dance,”_ was her only response, will indomitable to Hilda’s pleading eyes and offers to teach her), so after the four split into twos, Byleth and Claude find an empty couch to sit on, taking a break from the festivities.  
  
When Claude sees a flash of red approaching, his arm shifts, lying stretched across the top of the couch and fingertips nearly touching Byleth’s shoulders.  
  
“Well, fancy finding a face I haven’t seen here before.” The redhead pulls up a chair to sit, the edge of something predatory in his smile.  
  
“Here’s Sylvain, who I assume is probably the instigator to this whole shindig.” Claude provides, gesturing to the other with a wave of his hand.  
  
“You got me, Claude. Not many others in the Lions are up to the task of organizing something like this.” Sylvain, for his part, at least gives Claude enough attention to offer a wink, before angling his body towards his company. “And it’s Byleth right? Professor Eisner’s daughter?”  
  
She nods, which only seems to spur Sylvain on. “I’ve never seen you out on the town like this. Are you enjoying yourself?”  
  
Byleth nods again, taking a moment to sip from her cup. “It’s been enjoyable. I haven’t been to a party like this before.”  
  
There’s a light in Sylvain’s eye that Claude doesn’t enjoy, feeling an uncomfortable prickle at the back of his neck. “I’m glad we’ve made a good impression on you then! Hey, if you ever want to hit up the party scene again just let me know.” His arms sweep open wide in an invitation. “I know a lot of good casual places like this that you’ll probably like.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
Sylvain seems to accept this answer, smile only growing wider. “I know where to find you, yeah? But I’ll stop bugging you for now.” He stands, taking a step back. “Hey, but if you want to join, I know another game is about to start in the dining room.”  
  
“I think I’m good for the night.” Claude speaks up first, keeping his smile amiable. He glances at Byleth from the corner of his eye, who shakes her head.  
  
“I’ll keep my victories for now.”  
  
Sylvain laughs, giving her a wink. “Humorous too, huh? I hope I get to see you around more, Byleth.”  
  
With that Sylvain turns to leave, and the breath nearly rushes out of Claude in a sigh. He settles on a huff instead, bending his elbow and bringing his arm back to his side as he sinks back into the couch.  
  
There’s a smile behind her cup as she takes another sip. “Your friends are nice.”  
  
Claude’s brows raise. “An odd choice in timing to say that. You know he was hitting on you pretty hard, right?”  
  
She snorts—honestly snorts, something he had never heard her do before—before her small smile is directed toward him. “I wasn’t talking about that. Just...” She’s humming again, a considering head tilt before she continues. “Everyone who has come up to talk has been really nice. People tend to think that I’m...unapproachable, and I haven’t given them much reason to think otherwise.”  
  
Something in Claude’s chest seizes at the way her open smile falls from her lips, and he would do anything to get it back. His arm is back around her shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “That’s because no one has taken the time to get to know you, By. If they had, they would’ve known how great you are before tonight.”  
  
The smile is back and the weight is immediately lifted from Claude’s heart—but soon his heart is reaching for the stars when Byleth nestles into his side, her head resting against his chest. “Thank you, Claude. For being my friend, and for inviting me. I’m having fun.”  
  
His own smile nearly splits his face in two, letting his fingers twist around the strands of hair that have escaped her bun. “I should be the one saying something like that. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a party this much.”  
  
She looks up at Claude, something playful glittering in her eyes. “But I have to say, Hilda seemed more like my guide to the party life than you were.”  
  
“Ouch, Byleth!” Claude wilts, pressing the back of his free hand against his forehead. “Going right for the ego! After we were having a nice heart to heart there and everything...”  
  
Her nose wrinkles. “You’ve ruined plenty of heart to hearts.”  
  
His jaw drops in turn, his hand on his chest in mock dismay. “Me? I would _never_.”  
  
Byleth looks at him, expression blank...but something fights at the corner of her lips before her control breaks and she breaks out in laughter. It’s such a clear, unrestrained sound from her—and maybe it’s the proximity or the alcohol—but Claude finds himself laughing along, shoulders shuddering before he’s nearly doubled over with laughter. There’s a moment where they both try to stifle their giggles—but as soon as their eyes meet the laughter begins again, Byleth turning into Claude’s chest to hide her face while Claude snorts against her hair.  
  
It takes a full minute before they both manage to catch their breath, panting as if they had just run a marathon. Claude has to wipe tears from his eyes, gazing down at Byleth fondly.  
  
And a thought rings out loudly in his head.  
  
Claude wants to kiss her.  
  
He’s wanted to kiss her before this moment, the thought idly crossing his mind as he’s watched her chew the end of her pen as she mulls over books, or when he’s alone on a sleepless night with nothing else to keep his mind occupied than reviewing his day, her smiles, her voice.  
  
But he’s never felt the feeling so _strongly_ that it becomes an ache in his chest that he actively has to fight against, repeating a mantra of ‘ _not here, not right now’_ to desperately remind himself that they’re on a couch at a party with nothing but prying eyes around. Kissing Byleth wasn’t a moment he wanted to share with an audience of strangers. He wanted it to be something between the two of them.  
  
But other party-goers be damned, he couldn’t get his thoughts off of her lips, of the heat of her body against him, of—  
  
“I’d like some fresh air.” Claude is pulled back to the present by the sound of Byleth’s voice, clear blue eyes blinking up at him. “Do you want to join me?”  
  
He hopes none of his thoughts have projected onto his face, giving her his best impression of ease. “Sure, By. Would love to.”  
  
Claude stands first, offering a hand to pull Byleth to her feet.  
  
Neither of them comment when the other doesn’t let go.  
  
  
-  
  
  
It’s a quick trip to the back porch, the crowding minimal in such a large house. The chill of a spring night has left the outside lawn blessedly empty, only the muted sounds of chatter from within and the distant call of birds to keep them company.  
  
Claude isn’t sure what to say—or really, if he should say anything at all. The silence between them is charged, fraught with a tension that he can’t discern if it’s being shared or being projected by him alone. The railing stops their progress, and Claude takes a moment to peer up at the brightest of stars blinking through the trees to ground himself.  
  
But all of his attempts at calm are rendered meaningless when he feels both of Byleth’s hands grip his.  
  
“Claude.” She’s looking up at him with something Claude is afraid to name lest he gets his hopes up, but has no choice but to be drawn to.  
  
What he _can_ name in her expression is determination, despite the way her teeth toy nervously with her bottom lip. A light flush pinks her cheeks as she squarely meets his gaze.  
  
“I want you to kiss me.”  
  
The “ _if you would like_ ,” she attempts to ask is lost to his touch. Claude frees his hand from her gasp only to cradle her face between his palms, thumbs brushing against her cheeks. There’s no hesitation in the way he leans in, brushing his nose against hers before pressing their lips together.  
  
The relief is instantaneous, all the pressure in his chest eased with such a gentle touch. However the feeling is replaced by a hunger, the embers of emotion he had struggled to extinguish roaring into a fire.  
  
One kiss turns to two, and two quickly becomes more as Claude draws closer, hands sliding to her waist as they dance backward with every insistent new press of lips against lips. Byleth’s back hits the side of the house, a sigh shared between them as Claude uses the wall as leverage to crush their bodies together.  
  
That sigh quickly turns to a groan as Byleth twists the collar of his shirt in her fists to pull him even closer, the hot sweep of her tongue against him erasing all forms of higher thinking from Claude’s mind. His head tilts to ease the way for his tongue to slide against hers, the hunger inside him demanding he take _more_.  
  
His arms wrap around her back, pulling her flush to him; her hands slide into his hair, tugging to angle him so she can slip her tongue past his teeth. The breaths they share become fraught with harsh sighs and light moans when Byleth locks her ankle behind his leg and Claude quickly moves to hitch her thigh higher.  
  
She arches to meet the press of his body, moving in sync as their hips rolled, chasing something to quell the yearning that had built up between them. Her teeth tug his bottom lip as his grip on her becomes bruising.  
  
It’s both too much and not enough—an overwhelming shock to his senses after months of denying his desires, and the key to unlocking the deeper part of himself that only wanted _more_.  
  
Claude parts with a shuddering breath, still close enough to feel the heat of her against his lips. She’s looking well kissed—smudged lipstick, plump lips, a dusting of pink flooding her cheeks. Claude lets go of her thigh, reaching up to rub some of the lipstick away with a thumb.  
  
It’s a struggle to get his next words out, the furrow of his brow in high contrast to the smile on his lips. “Perhaps now isn’t the best time to do this.”  
  
The pout on her lips nearly has Claude ignoring his own words to kiss it away, but he manages to control himself.  
  
She huffs, leaning back and smoothing her hands over his chest. “When’s a better time? When you’re ignoring my advances towards you?”  
  
“Advances?” Claude is laughing, both from confusion and amusement. “Is that what you call it, By?” His grin is wide, still unable to completely contain his giddiness. “Maybe you should work harder on your technique if you expected me to notice a shoulder nudge and a steely gaze as the _throes of passion_.”  
  
Her flush deepens. “Like you’re one to talk.”  
  
“Fair,” he concedes, lowering his hands to drum his fingers against her hips. “I meant—perhaps after we’ve had a little less to drink and have more time to talk about what this is between us.”  
  
Byleth scoffs. “Why can’t we do both?” She raises on her toes to wrap her arms back around his neck. “Kiss more now, talk more later.” A pause, before a small smile lights her face. “Kiss more after talking.”  
  
“Alright,” he’s already pulling her hips closer as he speaks, breathing his laughter against her mouth, “you’ve made a compelling argument.”  
  
Claude feels her smile against his lips before she parts her own for him again.  
  
The edge of desperation is smoothed from this kiss, replaced with something soft and joyous as they exchange breaths. Claude takes the time to savor the feeling of the curves of her body against him, and the softness of her lips as she draws his between hers.  
  
His hands run up her sides in a way that makes her giggle—the softest sound he’s ever heard her make—and it only makes it harder to kiss her with the way his face splits with a smile. Byleth’s hands tangle in his hair again, and Claude nearly purrs at the way her nails scratch comfortingly against his scalp.  
  
He murmurs “You’re cute,” before she hushes him with another slide of her tongue. The response of “You’re cuter,” is lost in another bout of laughter as he playfully squeezes her behind.  
  
They both soon opt to forgo words for now, lost in the feeling of each other.  
  
  
-  
  
  
Their foreheads rest together the next time they part, after what could have been minutes or hours.  
  
Claude rubs his nose against her, a wry smile on his lips. “I’m going to ruin the moment again.”  
  
She huffs immediately. “Why must you keep doing this?”  
  
“Listen, it pains me just as much to be the bearer of bad news.” He presses a quick kiss to her lips in apology before continuing. “But we are outside of a fairly public party, and anyone could walk out here at any time.”  
  
Byleth raises an eyebrow, completely unperturbed by his words. It only makes him chuckle, giving her hips a playful squeeze.  
  
“I get it and I also don’t care at the moment, but unfortunately my life is on the line if someone in particular finds us like this.” The look on her face turns to confusion, and Claude’s laughter is edged with embarrassment. “Hilda was on my case about us before this party, and I told her we weren’t together—which this doesn’t mean we have to be if you don’t want to,” he’s quick to add, even if it pricks his heart with unease, “—but this would be hard to explain.”  
  
The confused look morphs to one of contemplation, Byleth blinking up at Claude. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”  
  
His mouth opens to supply a reply...but no words come. Instead, a dopey grin stretches wide enough that his cheeks hurt, unable to do anything but return her gaze with one of amazement.  
  
A wide smile is given in return, Byleth reaching up to press a soft, lingering kiss against his lips before falling back on her heels. “We’ll work it out later. I wouldn’t want to contribute to your untimely end.” Claude sighs as if it wasn’t his suggestion for them to stop, unable to fight the smile as she attempts to straighten his collar and wipe at the lipstick stains on his cheeks. “Though I don’t know if you’ll be able to hide it from her looking like this.”  
  
He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling as most of it falls back into his face. “Well, I could always pull my classic move of skipping out on the party early. That would at least delay the inevitable.”  
  
She grabs his hands even as she’s shaking her head, amusement brightening her expression. “Where would we even go?”  
  
There’s an exquisite sort of pain as his heart thumps against his ribs as she so easily includes herself in his hijinks, pulling her along to make their escape through the back lawn.  
  
“With you? _Anywhere_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic really developed a life of it's own--it's been a while since I wrote something this long. But thank you for reading!
> 
> Come view me on twitter @spotfast as I cry inconsolably about Claude for the umpteenth time, and check out the other fics and art in the collection on AO3 and twitter!


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